


Precedent

by DesireeArmfeldt



Category: due South
Genre: Angst, Challenge Response, POV First Person, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 13:53:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesireeArmfeldt/pseuds/DesireeArmfeldt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray wants to know what Fraser's type is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Precedent

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Communication challenge (Amnesty edition) at [fan-flashworks](http://fan-flashworks.livejournal.com).

I can never tell what provokes Ray to start this sort of conversation.  It seems as though the catalyst is usually something that happened hours or even days before Ray opens his mouth and, as casually as though he were inquiring about my preferences for dinner, says something like:

“So, Fraser, you got a type?  I mean, romantically, a particular type of woman you go for?”

“I don’t like to think of people in terms of types,” I reply, which is true enough, and almost certain to annoy him.  “Everyone is an individual, Ray, and it’s only respectful to treat them as such.”

“Well, sure, of course,” says Ray, rolling the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other.  “I’m not saying people are interchangeable snowmobile parts or anything like that.  But still, everyone has their tastes, right?  I’m just curious what you go for.  Blonde, brunette, redhead?  Thin, stacked, athletic, what?”

I’m not sure whether or not he’s deliberately trying to set my teeth on edge, but if so, he’s succeeding admirably.  “I don’t consider physical attributes the most important aspect upon which to judge a person.”

Ray rolls his eyes.  “Yeah, maybe your brain doesn’t, but I bet your body’s got other ideas.  What about gender, at least?  I know you like women, at least once in a blue moon; is that it, or you go for guys, too?”

“Gender is not high on my list of concerns when it comes to romantic or sexual attraction, no.”

“Huh.  See, now there is something I didn’t know about you, Fraser.  Not that it bothers me or anything, but it’s good to know.  So, okay, you’re easy about gender, you’re easy about looks, it’s, what, it’s all about a person’s  _inner beauty_  for you?”

“Ray, is there a point to this inquiry?  Because—“

“Nah, I’m just making conversation.  Just curious, you know?  I mean, I know you pretty well in a lot of ways, but. . .”  He shrugs and starts examining his fingernails.  “It doesn’t matter.  I just wondered.  And, you know. . .sometimes it seems like maybe. . .it might do you good to meet someone.  I’m just trying to picture what that person might be like, you know?”  He flicks a glance at me from under his eyelashes.

Maybe he doesn’t mean anything by it.  He’s certainly not deliberately trying to hurt me.  On the other hand, my warning signals have been clear; Ray knows them well, and has chosen to ignore them and keep pushing for a response.  The easiest way to escape the situation is to answer his question, so I do.

“I suppose I am rather. . .consistent, in the people to whom I am attracted.  Generalizing from an admittedly small sample, I would say that I am drawn to individuals who are capable.  Self-reliant.  Wounded, but resilient.  Courageous.  And every person in whom I have ever remotely considered entertaining a romantic interest has lied to me.  Which probably goes a long way toward explaining my singular lack of success when it comes to intimate relationships.”

The look on Ray’s face reminds me of nothing so much as his expression the moment after he punched me, on the shore of the lake.  Now, as then, it wrings my heart, but I can’t be sorry.  Now, as then, he got what he asked for.

The polite thing to do would be apologize.  The kind thing would be to lighten the mood with a joke and a change of subject; to smile to reassure Ray that our friendship has not been damaged by this spat.

But I do not wish to risk a reprise of this conversation at some later date. 

Ray takes an audible breath and jerks his head to one side and then the other, cracking the vertebrae.

“Well, that’s pretty interesting,” he says.  His voice is still light and causal, at odds with the tension that tightens his shoulders and curls up his hands.  “Now me, like I told you, I’m flexible about a lot of stuff.  Which includes plumbing, by the way.  And it ain’t like I’ve played the field much.  But I got a type, too.  Drop-dead beautiful—hey, I can dream, right?  Super-smart.  Good at physical stuff—out of bed, in bed.  Sense of humor that kinda sneaks up on you and smacks you in the back of the head.”  He’s smiling a little, now, pacing in small circles as he talks. 

“Little bit of a mean streak,” he continues.  “Lot more of a competitive streak.  Stickler for detail.  Passionate.  About everything; passionate about the little stuff, like dotting  _i_ s and crossing  _t_ s; passionate about the big stuff like justice and making the world a better place.”  Ray’s seemingly random movement has brought him around behind me.  He rests his hands on the back of my chair and leans over to speak in my ear – not too far into my personal space, not close enough to, say, kiss; but close enough for me to feel his breath on my cheek and his body heat on the back of my neck.

“Brave.  Stubborn.  Kinda person gets an idea in their head about what needs to be done and won’t stop until it’s done or they drop in their tracks.  Committed, that’s the word."  The casual tone is gone; now his voice is thick with bitterness. "Oh yeah, and my  _type_  apparently has kind of a kink for damaged goods, which is lucky for me.  Except they’re also smart enough to eventually figure out that really what they’re looking for is something better.”

He pushes himself abruptly away from the chair, away from me, with an explosive little grunt.  A few long strides carry him to the door, where he turns to look back at me.  His eyes hold mine for a long moment, in which neither of us says anything.  Then he’s gone, banging the door behind him.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Basement full of broken mirrors](https://archiveofourown.org/works/423463) by [mergatrude](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mergatrude/pseuds/mergatrude)




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